Accidents on 18th Avenue
by Drowl
Summary: Eponine didn't intend to spend her Friday afternoon exchanging identification with this hot-headed but handsome stranger, and it wasn't even because she hit his car or somehow, accidentally had salt poured into his coffee instead of sugar, but instead it was all because of Cillian, Cosette's border collie. Modern AU, three shot.
1. Chapter 1

I haven't even finished "An Ode to Chances" and I'm already starting this. But in my defense, this is a three shot - so it isn't like I'm going to go ahead and attempt to recreate the brick's length with this story. Besides, this plot has not left my mind ever since I thought of it, so what's the point of ignoring the call, right?

The characters I've thought of for this story are all the same actors from the Les Miserables 2012, movie. So, Aaron is Enjolras, Sam as Eponine, Amanda as Cosette (I'm going for a blonde Cosette here...), Fra Fee as Courfeyrac, George as Grantaire, Eddie as Marius, Killian as Combeferre, Hugh as Joly etc...

LEAVE ME SOME LOVE IN THE FORM OF REVIEWS, OKAY?!

Anyway, let's roll into Chapter 1.

* * *

** Chapter 1:**

**Where Serious Dog Owners Snaps Photos of Those Responsible**

New York was a place for opportunity, for living a life amongst towering buildings, for finding love, for being happy, for - for...for...?

Eponine couldn't for the life of her, find another reason that really fit her situation in the foreign city. Maybe foreign was not the right word, for she has been living in the state for a good five years now, but it wasn't like she was living and lapping in a life of luxury or anything, it was really far from that. Eponine Thernadier, standing at a good five foot seven on a good day and five foot five on a bad one, attends college. Why is this such an important fact, you ask? Well, because Thernadier's don't really _go _to college. As a daughter of parents with less-than-stellar criminal backgrounds, it was difficult enough to carry on living with a sixteen year old and a twelve year old in tow, but Eponine, pride and stubbornness radiating from every dark curl that escaped from her unruly hair, managed to do just that.

Azelma, her sixteen year old little sister, was a quiet force of her own. Although she did not inherit the fierceness that Eponine's personality seemed to contain a good eighty percent of, she had her very own strengths. She was small, unlike her Amazonian-like sister, and instead of dark curls, she inherited rod-straight hair, with the color of wheat drenched in the midst of sunset. She is a proud and very loving second mother to Cillian, Cosette's loveable Border Collie. Gavroche, her little brother, loved Cillian all the same, for amongst the apartment they all were squeezed into, he is the only other boy that Gavroche could really hang out with past eight pm.

Eponine lived not with only Azelma and Gavroche, her little brother, but also with the fiery red head, Musichetta and her brave-at-heart, best friend, Cosette. These three girls have not been separated since their flight mishaps when they had all flown to New York a few years ago. (The three of their flights were confused with ones that were leading to Paris, and the three girls had luckily spent an entire week in the country, all expenses paid, till they were all flown back to New York.) All three were clashing personalities, yet they had bonded well over their accidental vacation in Paris and had caught on very well from then on.

The three girls, the prowess and wild-lionesses of New York, Eponine, Cosette and Musichetta are all part of the thriving youth that engulfs the city. Eponine is on a scholarship in NYU, where she studies literature with a minor in politics (In truth, she has been trying to find the chance to drop this particular minor, for her reasons of being there in the first place wasn't relevant any longer.) Musichetta, a junior, also studies in NYU. Unlike Eponine's interest in the field of English, Musichetta was there for a music scholarship, only. However, Cosette wasn't originally a student in NYU, but in her junior year, Eponine had finally convinced her to leave the private, all-girls institution and transferred into the more diverse, and largely NYU. To Eponine, this brought on a double-edged conclusion of her sophomore life in the university.

* * *

Eponine was minoring in politics for a _reason. _Not because she was a terribly passionate democrat, or an activist, or because she intended to be a governor in the near future. No, her reason came in the package of a six foot one man with endearing freckles marred on his handsome face.

Marius Pontmercy.

Eponine was a freshman when she had taken on her third job as a librarian in NYU. She kept a very tight schedule; resulting in a very colorful coordinated calendar Azelma had gifted her on her nineteenth birthday. In every week of each 365 days of the entire year, each date is coated in faded blue highlighter. This particular blue indicated her job as a morning-waitress in a local cafe which Musichetta was conveniently their main barista. Bright yellows were also plastered on Eponine's weekends. The yellows indicated her schedule as a lounge singer on _Jean's, _a French-themed sports pub. Third, in a very dramatic hue of red, indicated her days, specifically Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays, where she had her shift as a librarian in NYU.

When she had met Marius Pontmercy, it was during one of the days where Eponine felt as if she would fall over in exhaustion and into the shelves of books she was currently stacking. Other than one would safely assume, Eponine meets the infamous Marius through circumstances that weren't so terribly charming to say in the very least. In that afternoon, Eponine squeezed in between mahogany and the smell of tattered and new textbooks, the heavy medical text book she had been currently attempting to slide into place fell from her grip. With the absolutely, unavoidable effect of gravity, this textbook conveniently found aim on the head of said, freckled Marius Pontmercy. Through the same medical text book did Eponine find ways on how to relieve the goose-egg the fallen textbook had given him and from then on she had been charmed. Marius, unlike the many wealthy students of NYU did not attempt to take her to court, but instead, he had smiled at her and told her "that this was actually the book I was looking for; my friend Joly needs it." She was flustered of course, she had _really _thought she was in for a law suit, but Marius proved her wrong, which Eponine was never truly accustomed to being. In the months where she had gotten to know Marius, she had enrolled herself into some of his classes in politics and had gone as far as to actually minoring in the subject, for she was surprisingly _good _at it. Marius had also introduced her to his friends, Courfeyrac and Joly; whom, through only a few weeks, she began to bond with in a speedy rate. In fact, it was these exact two men that lived across the complex from the girls' apartment.

It was in the eve of the end of Eponine's sophomore year when Gavroche turned ten. That same night, he groveled to her that he wanted to spend his birthday in Jean's, where she sang at in the weekends. Not one to want to say no to her brother who really, _did not _grovel at all, Eponine reluctantly agreed. Though quite honestly, she was glad that she had a discount there, for she really did not have much funds to spare when she practically had two "children" to support. Courfeyrac, Joly and Marius tagged along, which both Eponine and Gavroche Thernadier was all too glad for. Eponine, for she will be seeing Marius, Gavroche, because he had found a camaraderie in Courfeyrac's easy-going presence.

Earlier that same day, Cosette bursts in to their apartment with a bright smile on her face, an excited glee from her mouth announcing that her father and mother had _indeed _supported Cosette's decision of transferring into NYU. In which resulted in Musichetta and Eponine deciding that this should also be something they could also celebrate alongside Gavroche's birthday. Nothing a few drinks can do to relax the three hard-working girls, right?

Later on that night, when Eponine, clad in a soft blue dress Cosette had lent her, she had gotten on the stage with a brave and happy heart. She sang renditions of songs ranging from Edith Piaf to Radiohead and then a particular one for her little Gavroche. The obligatory "Happy Birthday, you smell like a monkey and you look like one too" line coming out of her with as much love as she can muster without wanting to tear at her throat at the sickening affection. But by the time she ended the song and Gavroche hugged her with his cheeks smeared of remnants of sauce from the ribs he so furiously munched on Eponine decides that all of it was really worth it, if only she could get Gavroche to smile at her more like this. During her last set, where she prepared to go into the first lyrics of "Samson" did Eponine only came to notice that Marius did not watch her with his bright green eyes and full smiles, as he usually did, but instead his entire head was turned to a blushing Cosette who he was conversing with very intimately.

The lines, "_I loved you first..." _had never been sung so honestly before.

* * *

Her entire junior year is full of her flawless grades in her classes and her shifts in her three jobs. Eponine did not suffer from heart break like she really had wanted to do, which was to: curl in bed, eat the entirety of Musichetta's _Ben and Jerry's _(that she of course, tried to hide to the bottom of their fridge in vain)as well as to try to take Cosette down like the catty girls in the movies that Musichetta loved to watch. But Eponine could not do any of these tasks, for first, Eponine could not afford to sleep for any longer than four hours at best (she did have two siblings to support and a scholarship to hold), second, she could not indulge in sweets for she _sang _for a living and third, because Cosette remained to be her best friend and as much as she wanted to throw her out of their complex window, Eponine remains to be fiercely loyal. Besides, she couldn't really blame Cosette for being in love.

Eponine in her true nature, tried to, of course. But she was unsuccessful.

Not attempting to eat her weight and vocal cords out with ice cream, slacking on her school work and tossing Cosette out of a window had proved to be a great decision that benefitted her for the days to come. For it surprisingly took Eponine only months before her aching at seeing Marius happy with Cosette had faded into a dull ache; and then, a full year before that very same ache had turned into one of cheeky-disgust, instead. It was not like she hated the entirety of their relationship, in fact, she had learned to be nonchalant about the entire ordeal; but it was because the two were so sickly sweet that if Musichetta's cheese cake did not prove to clog her entire blood stream out with its sugar, then the sweet affection that Marius and Cosette had for each other was enough to send her into becoming a properly diagnosed patient of Diabetes by the time she turns twenty one.

Over all, the year had done her well. Eponine supposes that since she was to begin her final year in NYU, she could finally be able to fulfill the one year where all will go smoothly, where she could finally run an entire lap around central park without having to change as quickly as possible to make it to her next shift, where she could in fact, have enough time to help Azelma out with giving Gavroche makeovers and thus turning him into a Gabriella (these moments with them were her favorite) and Eponine could finally, _finally _be able to only spend another year pouring more of her time over social facts and systems instead of finding reasons behinds Thoreau's words. (Eponine, as much as she excelled in her political part of her degree in NYU, did not find herself enjoying it as much as those in her class did.)

* * *

Of course Eponine's dreams of a perfect, smooth sailing senior year in NYU would prove to be a total _shit-specle. _(Courfeyrac told her that if you were to combine "spectacle" and "shit" in one word, it would get her meaning out very clearly. She thought this was utter crap though, but the word stuck to her since he and Joly used it frequently and honestly, Eponine could only take so much of it before it began to rub off on her too.)

First of all, her first day into her senior year, Eponine had managed to switch a sugar packet and a salt packet to a gentleman with a very difficult name to spell (Grantgir? Granear?) and although it did not bug him at all, in fact he sent her a cheeky smile and a flirty wink in turn, it did seem to bother his company who was, for a lack of better terms, more handsome than even Marius himself. (And Marius was godly-handsome to her when they had first met.) The man whose name she could not fully spell had taken his handsome companion's sugar instead and when Eponine had ran back to Musichetta to retrieve the appropriate packet for the man, she had instead walked back to the same table just to be the bare, awful witness of seeing that same, gorgeous blonde man take a sip of his black coffee just to quickly groan out in a stream of colorful curses a second later. His companion, the curly-haired man whose name she really, still could not spell in her head (why did Eponine find his name so difficult, anyway?) was doubled over in a fit of laughter, where he thumped his fist on their table so violently that she feared that his cup of coffee would fall over and spill over the blonde man's _macbook. _Eponine would have laughed too, for she is no stranger to the humor that the curly-haired man seemed to posses, if the blonde man had not in fact turned his steely blue gaze on hers. Before she could hand him the sugar packets, a frustrated stream of words escaped his pretty lips:

"Merde, what kind of coffee is this? Did you do this on purpose?"

So much for him being angelically handsome and perfect, she supposes.

* * *

The second most horrible thing happened to her last class of the day, which was at two p.m. with Professor Muriel. This class in particular, had _everything _to do with her minor in politics, and they started out with a project consisting of a dissertation on the social and political evolution of the new world versus the old world. Professor Muriel had a slight limp to his left leg, which he had injured on his camping trip with his sons out at Washington, he explained, so his aide was to pass around a hat that contained the topics they were to choose from.

And by god, did heaven and hell seemed to struck Eponine with lighting when that same arrogant, blonde man strode into the hall with a hat in hand and a perfectly indifferent visage to boot. The girls and that one guy who sat behind her immediately straightened to attention, giggles escaping them as they awaited that arrogant _sack of shit _to come down near them with that stupid, dumb hat on his stupid, pretty hands.

"Are you shitting me?" Eponine hissed out, watching as his purposeful and powerful swagger seemed to inveigle the entirety of the female and _male _population of the class to sigh out in a pathetic stream of love struck delight.

"I know, isn't he _gorgeous!" _Jacob Hoffler, who she knew to own one of those ugly, hairless felines whispered beside her. Eponine was a little startled to be quite honest, Jacob didn't really talk to her, she supposes it was because she wasn't particularly chic enough to be in his presence (last week she had seen Jacob with five large _Dior homme_ bags on his walk back to his dormitory) but she supposes that he found it okay to bond with her through some guy that Eponine swears she probably wanted to punch in the mouth right at the very second.

"He also doesn't like salt that much." Eponine's dry reply confused Jacob greatly.

"Oh."

Well, there goes her chance of ever being friends with someone that frequently shops in those luxury boutiques. Though if Eponine were to be honest, it wasn't like Jacob and her would fit anyway. She thinks her band tee collection would probably offend him so much that he'd drop out of NYU just to be rid of the presence of her wardrobe.

While Eponine entertained the idea of repulsing Jacob with a slow exhibit of her ratty, flea shopped band tee-shirts, she had failed to notice that the giggling band of trio from behind her had ceased. Shaking the stupor she was in, she looked behind her just to have their eyes stare right back at hers, as if they were contemplating whether she was mentally challenged or not. Confused and with a quick spark of words that was slowly rising from her mouth, Eponine almost had the glorious retort leaving her and thus, exploding at the giggly bunch before another, deep vocal cut through her speech.

"Are you going to pick your topic or what?" His words were accompanied with the impatient shaking of the hat right under her nose.

_Holy fucking shit._

"Calm down, _Napoleon_." She retorted, her brown eyes turning fiery as hers connected with his icy blue ones. It seemed as if this particular jab, her calling him Napoleon, had inflamed him even more for before she could dip her hand into the hat, he snatched it right back from her as quickly.

"What the hell?"

"You get to pick last."

"And why?"

The blonde man thrusted the hat towards Jacob and of course, he and his form fitting, sleek black _sweater_ that was probably from stupid Dior seemed to jump in enthusiasm along with him when he bent over to look at Jacob's chosen topic.

"So he gets to go first?!" Eponine's incensed words seemed to reach a higher decibel as her temper flared. _He made her so angry. _He only looked at her in response, as if he was prolonging her wait to anger her even more.

"What happened to women being first?" The man sent her a mocking look.

"You are far from being a _"woman"."_

"Fuck you, this isn't misogyny one-oh-one. Give me my damn topic."

"I saved this just for you." He replies, eyes hard as he calmly places the paper in front of her.

_**French Revolution **_it read.

And if you were to really, truly ask Eponine what subject she did not and could not excel at without trying so very hard, it would be **history**.

Before Eponine could contemplate throwing herself to him and scratching the perfect blonde curls out of his head, he was already striding away, leaving a dust of dreamy sighs from the students behind her and an angry, huffing one that resembled an angry bull from her nostrils.

That stupid, infuriating man.

* * *

The third occurrence that to her, seemed to be the worst out of all the two particular shit-specle of the day was the out-of-the-blue, in all caps-lock texts from Courfeyrac that she received when she was on her daily run at Central Park. Eponine was clad in the tight black yoga pants and sports bra that Cosette and Musichetta had given her as a gift last Christmas. In her left hand, she clutched the leash that held a panting Cillian beside her. Eponine came to a stop immediately, seeing as the insistent beeping from numerous, quick texts kept cutting _The Black Keys _off from her ears in five second intervals. Eponine came to a stop, letting her heart calm before straightening to catch her breath. While she willed herself to calm, Cillian immediately slumped down on his furry butt, his breaths heavy in exhaustion. She supposes Cillian was probably thanking the God-dog's above for Courfeyrac putting a stop to their exercise.

"Told ya' you were eating too much of those Kibble things Cosette has been feeding you." Eponine muttered good naturedly, patting Cillian's head with affection.

He sneezes in reply.

Before Eponine could view Courfeyrac's texts, a string of "Oom Pah Pah, Oom Pah Pah!" blurted out of her phone, alerting her that not only is Courfeyrac calling, but he has _certainly _been screwing with her phone again. Apart from Cosette and Jehan, it was only Courfeyrac too, that enabled the monthly trips to seeing Broadway shows. Courfeyrac, in simple terms, _loved _Oliver!.

"What?" Eponine huffed impatiently as soon as her ear had placed itself near her phone.

"Pony, why aren't you answering my texts?!"

"How can I when you're too busy firing off fifty of them into my inbox? And don't call me Pony." She retorted, turning around to lean unto the fence that surrounded the lake.

"I am a fast texter huh?"

"Courf! Ugh, what did you need? I'm currently in the middle of my run here." Eponine could hear a snicker and a bit of movement in the background and she supposes that he had company. Before she could speak whatever, a muted and familiar voice in the background murmured, "Enjolras isn't answering his phone."

Eponine was sure that she knew who that voice belonged to, but his name wasn't particularly coming up in her jumbled, post-exercise brain.

"Courf, you idiot, why am I on speaker phone?"

"Oh shit, how'd you know you were on speaker phone?" Eponine was about to retort angrily when from a distant she heard an exasperated "WHAT?!" and a few frustrated ramblings. She briefly turns around to try and spot the owner of the voice, and she sees a muscular back turned from hers, cell phone to his ear, beanie clad-head, and a tight white shirt over his body. He was animatedly in conversation, seemingly as exasperated as she was when Courf interrupted her run.

"Hold on Courf, there's some guy who's about to blow off a fuse here…" she ambles a bit more to her right, she supposes this will be an enough distance so she won't completely be in the same noise-background as the angry guy in the white shirt.

"Huh that's weird."

"What's weird?"

"Grant's on the phone too. Oh well never mind that. Are you free tomorrow?" Eponine's brows furrow. That name sounds really familiar to her; it was like it brought on a taste of déjà vu on her tongue.

"Depends...really. what time?"

"Most likely…around seven? Listen, one of my best buddies are in town for good, they've transferred into NYU and a little drinking as a celebration sounds good eh? I'll even pay for your first round of margaritas if you come. Please, Ponine!"

Eponine was not about to turn down free drinks, and after this day she's had? It was like a dream come true.

"I'm not about to say no to free drinks, Courf."

"Awesome!" Courfeyrac screamed and she swore that her phone could have yelled out in pain if it could at the volume of his voice.

"Dude, settle down!"

"Man, I get excited, stop ruining my mojo."

"I'm hanging up now." Eponine smiled lightly, if anyone were to ask on who Eponine could, hypothetically speaking, rob a bank with, it would certainly be Courfeyrac; only because he was her partner in crime in that sense of the word. Seriously, she really would _never_ rob a bank, Eponine has too many people on the top of her mental list on who would certainly rob a bank, number one being persons who she was closely related to.

Hint: her "parents."

"Fine, I'll see you later!"

"Later? Courf, if you think I'm cooking dinner for y-"

Dial tone.

Eponine finds herself shaking her head, a smile coming to her face as she received a newer text from Courfeyrac a few seconds after he hung up.

"_Chinese at your place. I'm sick of your cooking, so I'm ordering."_

Before Eponine however, could text back, she makes her way to the bench that was situated near hers, for really, her run had deemed her extremely thirsty and she needs to get a hold of her bottle of water before Cillian, the smart little ass, decides to uncap it for her and drink the entirety on her own.

Though the sight that beheld her when she turned had completely shaken her out of her post-Courfeyrac-cheer-up spree.

"Cillian, what the FUCK are you doing?!"

For the readers who are completely appalled at Eponine's colorful vocabulary, do understand that this particular moment is completely well deserving of as many curses as Eponine could think of in a span of seconds. If she had only known that the few minutes that she turned her back to Cillian, ambled her way farther from him and the other man who was speaking on the phone, bent to lean unto the rail that surrounded the lake and read Courfeyrac's new text could lead to this particular moment, she would have never done all of them and instead, parked herself right next to Cillian to watch his every move.

And of course, faith dictates that it wasn't enough for Eponine that Cosette's dog was engaging in a public act of love for all of the New Yorkers to see; but oh! It just so happens that the same, infuriating, salt-hating, Napoleon-anger-triggered, white-form fitting-shirt-wearing, _muscular _and _sweaty _man from the cafe and Muriel's class seemed to be the owner of said girl-dog that Cillian had taken a _liking _to.

"What is your dog doing to my dog?!" He is striding to her with his stupid, commanding swagger to her, gorgeous face contorted into what she could make out as exasperation and embarrassment, and still he is on his phone, now looking at her as if she is the cause of the problems in his entire life.

"I - I - I don't, I mean, it's, he's not my dog! Cillian, would you stop!" Cillian, of course, does not stop, instead he continues to hump the stupid blonde dog even more.

"Get him off!"

"I'm not going to remove him...his - uh from there!"

"He's going to get my dog pregnant!"

"I CAN'T CONTROL THAT DOG'S URGES!"

"He's YOUR dog! STOP HIM!" At this point, the infuriating and _nice smelling (_'how can he even smell nice, he's sweaty for god's sakes!' Eponine thought briefly) man is a good six inch in standing from her. How Eponine knew that specific distance was only and truly, because of the fact that when she tried to move back from his close proximity, she instead found her bare waist stumbling right back to the cold metal of the rail.

"You stop him!"

"Why should I?! He's not _my _dog!"

"I told you he isn't MY dog! And you stop him because, because y-yo- you have the same bits and it's less awkward that way!"

"What?! What does that even mean?"

"Ugh god fucking damn it, I'm not about to remove that damn dog and his damn penis from _your_ dog!"

Eponine has become so flustered that her usually blush-free face was, well, red. The embarrassment of being in such a peculiar position, not only by an attractive man such as he, but also with the fact that she practically told him to remove Cillian from his dog because _they share the same lower bits and it won't be awkward then, _caught up to her. It was not only that too, but now, she struggled with the fact that his close proximity and his heaving chest had completely sent her into a tizzy, because how can she ignore that he is so ridiculously good looking and she is far too under dressed for this conversation? In vain, she tries to wrap her arms around her bare stomach, but it seems that this action brings his blue eyes to stray from her face and down to her bare waist.

'And I thought this couldn't get any more awkward', she thinks.

They are both stunned to silence at this very point. She wants to kick him because _how dare he ruin her entire day_ but at the same time, she is angry because the tension that was purely built on anger and frustration with each other has melted into something else and she is _certainly _not about to punch his perfect jaw and she is _certainly _not contemplating on kissing his perfect pink lips, on which was now parted as his heated stare ascends from her body and back to her eyes.

There is more silence.

Then violent laughter erupts from his phone. This does it however, the moment is gone and Eponine is both glad and annoyed.

Though for now, Eponine is clutching at her heaving chest, she does not know or even bothers to understands why she is so damn _angry _around him, enough to make her breathe as heavily as this, but it was like this man was fire and she in turn was fuel, eager to be inflamed by his own nature.

He is hissing into the phone and then he is hanging up, but before Eponine could think of maybe just _making a run for it _and just abandoning Cillian out here (she could always come back right? And it's not like Musichetta would mind not having him around for a night, she isn't very fond of walking Cillian to take his potty breaks, anyway...) he is right in front of her again, but he is less angry now and more indifferent, but at the same time there is a fluidity in which he seems to engulf her in his stance and she is so frustrated that she cannot put into words on what kind of man he _really_ is...

Other than someone that just pisses the fuck out of her, of course. But that is such a course description and she is not about to major in literature with honors while using such adjectives to describe him.

Eponine tries not to look at him but it is like he is commanding her silently to look at him, in which she does of course. She is angry that now there is no stupid laughter to keep this moment from being silent, but at the same time she is glad that there isn't. Since when did she become this undecided over anything?!

"Give me your name."

Eponine's head snaps to his so quickly she is really quite surprised that head doesn't fly right off and into the lake behind her.

"What?"

"Your dog will probably get my dog pregnant and I'm not about to keep the entirety of this responsibility on my shoulders. So...give me your name." Eponine's mouth seems to gape at his command, who asks for people's name in this manner?

But then again do people even meet and proceed to get into heated arguments because their dogs had found it completely okay to hump each other out in Central Park? At this point, this man has his phone out, and he is looking at her expectantly as if she would just bend to his will just like that.

In response, Eponine takes her phone out too, and now both of their iPhones are centered at each other's faces, as if they were about to take pictures of each other at that very moment. In her surprise, the sound of a photo being captured _does _come from his phone and she is now back to being flustered and exasperated.

"Why did you do that?!"

"So I know whose dog got my dog pregnant."

"_He. is. Not. my. dog."_

"He is with you, yeah? You're running with the dog? He's your dog."

"He is my best friend's dog! And delete that picture!"

"Give me your name." He replies instead, his gaze and voice infuriatingly leveled and calm.

Eponine has half the mind to test her newly toned arms out by swinging his six foot three frame into the lake behind her, but instead, she takes a photo of him and saves it into her phone, just like he did.

"Why did you do that?!"

"So I have photographic proof of which asshole can't seem to find the mental capacity to understand that that dog is _not my dog."_

He is silent again and she is proud of herself for how her wit has seemed to stun him into possible submission. But then his quick hands are grabbing her phone and she is so completely stunned by this action that she stays rooted for a few more seconds.

"What the fuck!?" Eponine is making a grab for him but he steps back quickly, all the whilst, his thumb is furiously moving over her phone's screen and she is trying to make a grab for her phone, but when she _really_ is about to clock him in the jaw, he hands her back the phone with an infuriating ghost of a smile on his lips.

"Here you go, _Eponine_."

_How the fuck?_

"And I am Enjolras. I will be texting you later so you will have my contact in turn, believe me, if _your _dog does impregnate my dog, we'll _be _in contact. Come along, girl."

And with a whistle, the stupid man, with his stupid name, his stupid face and his stupid dog disappears from her sight.

Eponine doesn't even want to think about how her mental vocabulary has reduced itself from having colorful and powerfully worded statements to using such words as _"stupid...stupid...stupid" _in everything that had to do with any noun or verb that she thinks of when she sees that man, Enjolras. But as she shakes the shock out of her system, she is then seeing Cillian looking at her with his large eyes, tongue swept to the side of his mouth and an expectant look at his face that she knew was begging her for more of his Kibble treats.

Eponine could certainly now figure out what New York brought to people like her:

_New York was a place for opportunity, for living a life amongst towering buildings, for finding love, for being happy, for - for...for...?_

For pretty dog owners who are insistently passionate about equally sharing the blame of their dogs' unwanted pregnancy.

* * *

(That sexual tension though.)

I seriously enjoy writing arguments between characters such as E/E, because honestly, they're both pretty firey characters to begin with. Usually, people like that clash and then get along _very _well, or they end up hating each other. To me, I think they're in the middle ground.

But attraction to each other? (Very high on the rictor scale, tbh).

I'll have you know that Cosette's dog, Cillian, is actually inspired by Amanda Seyfried's adorable and very smart dog. I'm not sure if Amanda's dog is a girl or a boy, but I do know that he is smart and so very fiitting to be one of the many reasons why E/E in this fic begin to interact in the first place.

PS: Hopefully I wasn't too OOC on them, I made Enjolras very intimidating and a bit aloof, Eponine is also fiercely independent and stubborn, too. I'm trying to take a grasp of their characters outside of their original miserable, 19th century fictional existences okay, give me a break! ;-;

Leave reviews please! Also I will be making an art out of this fic too, and it will be up on my blog soon. Reminder on what my tumblr account is: ( www. violentporcupines. tumblr. com )

XXX


	2. Chapter 2

So sorry for the long wait guys, I am terribly busy with my classes and most often when I do find the time to sit down to work on my fics, I come up with a blank. To all that reviewed, favorited and watched, **thank you guys so much! **I'm so glad you're all reading my work :')

Disclaimer: Oh I wish I owned Les Mis.

* * *

Chapter 2:

**In Which Stolen Library Cards Provide Much Needed Pizza Dates**

Éponine's emotions were in a tizzy.

It had been a total of fifteen minutes and a half when she came marching into her apartment with Cillian in tow. Furious and pink cheeked she had strode in, muttering about iPhones (Steve Jobs should invent an app to keep stupid attractive blonde men from taking bad photos of girls in Central Park over their stupid dog problems...) muttering about Kibble Bits (This is their fault, I bet they have some type of iron in there that made Cillian like this...) and about everything that took over her entire day: whom was basically, Enjolras. Courfeyrac and Musichetta, huddled over a ton of generous boxes of Chinese beef broccoli barely sent her glances upon her entrance, because apparently, Courfeyrac had forgotten to order an even amount of noodles, so therefore he must clean the girl's dishes for a week for he's completely "robbed them of the chance to overdose on good food." Éponine was glad for the distraction, because she did not want to have to explain why adrenaline peaked through her body this much after that confrontation in the park, and really, knowing her, she probably would even toss Courfeyrac out of their apartment building by his ear if he even so much hint upon her scarlet cheeks. So Éponine strides off to her bedroom, leaves Cillian with his cheeky-dog grin in the kitchen and jumps right into the shower with a scowl to boot.

Éponine often practiced her scales in the shower, because this is really probably one of the only times she could do so because her schedule is far too filled up. With the new dissertation in hand and her planned escape routes in the campus where she can completely avoid that stupid man, the post-its in her thick planner will surely double by the minute. She could almost feel the post-its on her hand, and can definitely imagine herself stacking them upon another, when a desperate knocking interrupts her bathing and train of thought.

"GIVE OR TAKE FIVE SECONDS BEFORE I DIE OUT HERE!"

Joly.

"Joly what are you doing?! Stop pounding on the door!" Her voice is slightly muffled by the pounding of the water on the bathroom tiles, but her voice remains strong even with a door separating them both.

"Éponine, oh god it was horrible! One second I was trying to pick up a box of fortune cookies and the next I find myself holding a cockroach at your living room floor! Why do you girls have roaches?! Courf and I don't even have roaches! Do you know what kind of bacteria these cockroaches can bring into your home? And they crawl on New York garbage, oh god the garbage!"

If this was another day where misfortune simply got far too bored chasing after their friend Lesgle and instead, goes after their friendly resident hypochondriac, she would have enjoyed laughing at him with Courfeyrac egging his paranoia on. But seeing as she's naked in the shower, about a minute away from rinsing the shampoo out of her hair and approximately three seconds from contemplating on just wearing a disguise till she graduates to avoid that blonde man, but as one can tell, Eponine really has nothing to laugh about.

"Why won't you go across to your apartment and hide there instead?!"

"Éponine this is serious! I need the appropriate sanitizers and it's in your restroom! Let me in!"

"ADRIEN JOLY!"

"EPONINE PLEASE!"

Eponine is infuriated, she is annoyed, tired and now she is barreling like an angry bull out of the shower because really, she'll do anything to keep Joly from sobbing at her restroom door Now, she is dripping wet and wrapped up in her towel, glaring at Joly and marching right out to the living room, all within a span of fifteen seconds.

And here, two new pair of eyes are staring at her with a mixture of laughter, embarrassment and drunken glee.

Drunken, meaning, coming off of Courfeyrac and the man with the difficult-name to spell from the café this very morning.

"Oh god."

"Hey, café girl, nice to see YOU again."

Eponine who is far too wet and frustrated sends him a rueful glance before marching to their phone. She is gripping her towel closer to her body (because she'll be damned if bad luck makes it into a homerun by stripping her butt naked in front of her friends) and with her other hand, she aggressively takes their phone out of its charging dock and throws it at Courfeyrac's unsuspecting lap.

"Call the building for an exterminator, I will toss you all out of the state if Joly barges in the middle of my shower again because of a stupid roach."

"What has the roach ever done to deserve such cruel words Ponine? It isn't stupid, it was actually pretty big. You should have seen Joly's face when he realized what it was though." Courfeyrac is busy laughing now, making numerous mistakes in his dialing because of his shaking shoulders.

"I got a photo, wait till Cosette sees it..." Marius cuts in, waving his phone around with a horrified looking Joly in a colorful picture.

"Marius, how did you even manage to bring Cosette into this?"

"I uploaded the photo on Instagram and Cosette loves Instagram, so naturally I would be - "

But as their voice rose, Eponine's scowl deepened even more. The conversation turns from hurling out a cockroach into the streets below (Bahorel) and then to different sets of filters that Cosette apparently prefers over "Valencia" on Instagram. If Marius had not been so in love with Cosette, Eponine would probably inquire that he is far too knowledgeable about the difference between orange, and a darker shade of orange. I mean, even Musichetta barely paid any attention to that, and out of all the three of them she is the far more artistic one.

Eponine flops on the couch, towel still wrapped tightly around her. She contemplates slapping her hand to her forehead hard enough to possibly knock her out so she wouldn't have to deal with their friends, but she is stopped from doing so when a throat clears from the stranger next to her.

A hand is now thrust under her chin, waiting for her reciprocal touch to initiate an ancient-long action of meeting someone new. Eponine deliberately wipes her wet hands unto Courfeyrac's jeans, forces a tight smile out and grasps his hand firmly.

"I am Combeferre." He says. Nothing more, nothing less. Combeferre was tall, he looked even more comical than Courfeyrac and Joly combined when they're squeezed unto Eponine's couch. (And that really was saying something.)

"I am Éponine, it's nice to meet you Combeferre."

"I'm Grantaire, if you don't remember." The man with the difficult-spelling name from today cuts them off completely, he strides towards them with a sorta-drunk-but-not-yet-disabled grin on his face.

"Hey Grantaire."

"Hey Eponine. It's nice to meet you again! Small world huh? Okay, will you be eating your fish balls?" Grantaire gestures hungrily towards the box that was named "Eponine" in a soft calligraphy that she knew Jehan wrote, and really, she's lost her appetite after Joly interrupted her bathing, so she ignores the laugh that came from Courfeyrac at "fish balls" and merely nods her head in confirmation.

"Okay sweet, I am starving! Fish balls are food created by the Greek gods and I am not shitting any of you, it really is. Hey Jehan, are you going to eat yours?"

Combeferre next to her shakes his head, his gentle countenance turned into one of gregariousness. "He has no idea about Greek gods, do not trust Grant."

Eponine actually breaks into a small chuckle at Combeferre's comments. It is true that Grantaire, who is now on a mission to stick his chopstick on every box in lieu of his coveted fish balls had a communal light of his own. He was very much like the playful Courfeyrac in a way, but there is a certain way he holds himself that reminds him very much of the sometimes-regal Jehan, but with a bit more sarcasm. Okay, a whole lot more.

"Twenty three scrubs on my hands and now, all is well guys. All is well." Joly strides out, a smile now replacing his panic-ridden face from earlier. Eponine would have decked him over the head with the living room table, but if she were to do that the towel she was wearing will surely slip and bare her naked for all of her friends to see. It was either being stripped naked or physically assaulting Joly, so naturally Éponine picks the former.

"Joly, you are lucky I am in this stupid towel, because I swear to Courfeyrac's Wicked tickets, if I wasn't, I would have tossed you out into the alley beside Musain right now."

Well that did it, Joly was surely disgusted and now terribly anxious of Éponine actually making an honest threat. True to Joly's nature, he had very well been acquainted by the very same alley when Courfeyrac's stray cat of the week ventured in between the darkened building. In a state of panic from the injured and limping Courfeyrac, he pushes Joly into the alley with a wild look that sent him knee down in grime in garbage, instead of Courfeyrac's vision of Joly chasing heroically after the feline he hadn't even named yet.

Needless to say an injured, cat-less Courfeyrac and a hyperventilating medical student was the highlight of the entire year for Cosette, Eponine and Musichetta.

Apart from the giggles that left Musichetta's mouth and the incessant eye rolling coming from Bahorel's conversation with Marius, the group of friends have reached an impasse of some sort, of course excluding the incredible tension in between the sanitized Joly and the Dove-smelling, fresh-out-of-the-shower Éponine.

"Hey Joly, are you eating your fish balls?"

'Well at least I know Grantaire can be trusted in breaking tensions' Éponine concludes mentally.

* * *

"Didn't the French militia have such wonderful taste in clothing? I mean look at this cut Jehan!"

"Oh they are good! Those navy buttons are nice. Maybe it represented their regality? Navy is such a robust color..."

"They look like buttons to me."

"I think they're gold-finished. Wait, could the French militia even afford that?"

"Maybe."

"Guys are you kidding me right now? You're supposed to help me with my research!"

Éponine was sure that if there were to be any other reliable people she could entrust to help her with her dissertation, it would be Cosette and Jehan. But it seems like life truly had sent her spiraling upside down, because for the second time of the exact same month, she had been completely, invariably, wrong.

"I actually don't know a lot about the revolution." Jehan confesses with a wry smile. As much as Eponine was tempted to string out a ridiculous amount of F-words, he is really hard to dislike or is like all the sweetest words combed into a slip of a handsome young man.

But do not be fooled because he too, Jehan Prouvaire, had a mean streak. And when ignited, the gentle poet with many nicknames evaporated like embers, which is then replaced by a roaring fire that burned whomever got near.

But today, as the trio inhabited the farthest table to the right wing of the large library, Jean is poet-Jehan, not Jean-Hulk in the making. Though truth to be told, Eponine actually felt she could trade places with a raging Jehan right about now, because her temper is simmering at this very moment.

Cosette decided to speak out right after Jehan's confession. "You could call Grantaire."

Cosette might as well have told her that she won a lifetime supply of money to provide for her siblings because either way, the thought of winning that much money and actually confiding in GRANTAIRE of all people for a subject as this, ensured the same amount of amused and slightly hysterical snorts that came from her nose.

But instead the wheat haired girl tosses a pencil at her direction. "I'm serious Ponine! He is well versed on the revolution since one of his flatmates is some sort of specialist on it. I think his name is Eric."

Eponine decides to wait with baited breath for Cosette to laugh her high-pitched, Disney-princess giggle. To ensure that she really was just teasing.

Anytime now and a bird should fly right to the finger of Cosette Fauchelevant and sing along with her laughter.

Give or take a few more minutes before the woodland creatures of the New York Zoo comes bounding into the library to carry a giggling Cosette away in a bed of flowers.

And she does not laugh.

"You are actually serious."

"Eponine! Give Grant a call, he really would know how to help you."

But Eponine was Eponine, and as much as she would love to drag Grantaire from his flat somewhere in the city (possibly by luring him with fish balls and champagne) she does not want to rely on somebody else to ensure that her A in the class will be acquired through not independence alone, but with help.

She decides as Jehan stares at her with his green eyes that she'll probably call Grantaire when she's reduced to miserable tears.

* * *

Eponine took her days by the storm for the following weeks. As her savings got larger and smaller at the same time, so did Azelma grew nearer to adulthood and Gavroche bursting out inch by the inch. (She figured that soon her little man will grow past Azelma, then later her in a few years to come.) Eponine's planner also got thicker, since her promotion at the café, her pays have gotten larger and the need to slave over to a third job soon reduced itself to only needing two. Another good news was that no stork with a beak full of puppies have come knocking on her front door, nor did the bird landed on her when she deliberately walked the longer paths in campus, and it most certainly did not bump into her or Cillian when she walked him around the block far from 18th avenue.

Over all, the two weeks since the incident have proven to be quite the winner. Turtle-neck-wearing Jacob had also left her alone, receding back to merely allowing Eponine and her not-chic wardrobe to share the same breathing area as him for the three hours they were in a class together.

And the man that had plagued her day not so long ago?

Also a no show.

Eponine really contemplated removing her newly redesigned escape routes around campus since that man seemed to have evaporated faster than Musichetta's chocolate ice cream back home. Not to mention if her planner even thought about growing an inch thicker, she certainly would have to invest in another and she really can't afford that right now.

When class was dismissed, it soon became quite a shock when Eponine hoisted her heavy shoulder bag on and her phone beeped even before it hit the two pm mark. Cosette often texted her at this time, opting for a late lunch at a restaurant somewhere near campus, and really if she knew that this probably was not Cosette actually scheduling lunch at the appropriate hour, she really would have not answered it and instead hurled the phone at Jacob who stood aghast and offended at Eponine's bleach-stained muscle shirt.

"Pizza?" The text read.

Eponine was not horrified at the mention of pizza, she loves the greasy excuse for a food. She unravelled at the meaty one (for she sometimes really truly ate like a rabid carnivore) more than the more popular pepperoni pick and she would never be caught dead turning down an invite for free food.

No, it was because the white font that was surrounded by the soft, aqua blue border did not only match the eyes of Lucifer himself, but it also did not form the familiar names of people she normally lounged around with back home.

Her phone asks if she's sure if she wants to delete the message. Eponine does not hesitate when she touches down "yes."

Message number one from "Enjolras" successfully deleted.

* * *

The second message came when she was doing lunges at the gym with an angry Jehan. One thing that one should know about this poet when he was angry is that he is a great work out partner.

When she opens it up, it wasn't necessarily a message, but a forwarded, 15 page long essay of "The New Yorker's: Responsibility of Having Dogs"

At this rate, Eponine did not know whether this could count as the second message from the elusive "TA" of her class (but was he really?) or the fifteenth one since the essay was fifteen page long.

She does not delete it this time around, but instead she changes his contact name from "Enjolras" to "Possible Baby Puppy-Momma."

She considers replying with a photo of Grantaire's being far too drunk from a couple of nights ago, but before she could even try, Jehan is pushing her to do squats with him, a rabid eye on her as he pointedly looks at the weights she was expected to place around her ankles So with a toss of her phone into the gym bag, she forgets all about Enjolras, the baby momma.

* * *

The sixteenth and seventeenth one came when Eponine was walking about Columbia's prestigious grounds with a barely awake Grantaire. After deliberately pushing herself to actual tears after pulling a dreadful blank at a certain area of her dissertation, she had finally given in and secretly called Grantaire (in a locked bathroom and all) proudly persuading him to be the lucky man to help her with her paper.

Grantaire of course, calls "bullshit" on her and tells her to meet up with him at Columbia.

So now here they walk along the shelves of the school's library, they are stocked well and Eponine can feel the slimy scent of "Ivy League" drifting from the spines of the four books that Grantaire had in his arms.

"Grantaire, how do you think you can manage to borrow these books if you are not even in this school?" Eponine hisses, shoving the stray hair that fell from her bun crassly.

Grantaire sends her a sly smirk and flashes an ID at her face, his fingers conveniently covering the unlucky guy's photo.

"I got ya covered, Ponine."

By the fifth book stacked in his arms, Grantaire proves to not always have Eponine's back. Basically, he shoves the heavy books on her arms, dashing away to the restrooms for he "really needed to go" and to just "wait here and try to pretend you belong."

What was that even supposed to mean?

Her phone vibrates against the back pocket of her jeans then. She has half the mind to let go of the books in an act of ridiculous rebellion, but that probably would not be "blending in" with the rest of the special snowflake ivy's of this school, so she thinks less about it. The second vibration happens not after three seconds of the first one, and in a huff, Eponine places the books to her feet and slides the blasted phone out of her jean's back pocket.

"You look like you're about to run out of the library with those books." It read.

Eponine freezes up at the text, flashes of Combeferre's stupid thriller films of stalkers following girls around in dark corners (is an ivy league's library considered a dark corner?) flickering through her head in quick stills.

But the second one read: "You may want to pick up The Republique from Plato while you're at it."

And Eponine's fear of hockey-masked sociopaths are gone and instead, she is facing the man whom she avoided like the bubonic plague successfully for half a month now.

"Fancy seeing you here." He says, tone dry and eyes piercing.

"Uh"

"Columbia has much softer tissues in their restrooms here. NYU's own gives me chaff - whoa Enj, I uh thought you would be asleep...and not...here." Grantaire stutters out, incredibly embarrassed. Eponine finds it difficult to comprehend if he was flustered because of his very vocal tissue comparison (this is Grantaire we are talking about after all) but after a few seconds, she becomes perplexed by the fact that Grantaire knew Enjolras enough to have an idea of his sleeping regimen.

Eponine was nicknamed a bright little flower for a reason, so it did not take her long to fit the puzzle in her head.

"Is he you and Combeferre's third flatmate?"

"The one and only."

Now if the possible escape route was through a crack of a library shelf or a hole on the ground, Eponine would have, could have, possibly tried to sink into it and run for refuge, but knowing that she's been planning elaborate escape routes that rivaled James Bond's works and then realizing he was right under her nose all this time - well Eponine's tank of emotion was a mixture of both disappointment and utter humiliation.

"Do you have my card Grantaire?"

"What? Why would I have it?"

"Because this wouldn't be the first." Eponine's brows were furrowing even closer now, and she did not care that she was probably sporting a unibrow because of this action, because now Grantaire was truly picking at his pockets, assuring that he did not have the card that he showed Eponine a while ago.

But oh, she knew how pick pocketers work because she was subjected to the same job when she was younger and she knew how to detect an unexperienced one without struggle.

"Grantaire don't you even dare slip that card in my pocket or so help me - "

Grantaire immediately halts, eyes wide as he looks at Eponine as if he's seen Chris Angel himself.

"How the hell?"

She gives him a look in reply but he's giving her a sarcastic smirk now.

"Can you do card tricks too? Like 'Pick a card, any card' Ponine?" Eponine's look turns even more menacing and before she knew it, Grantaire is taking her shoulders, shoving her into the surprised hands of Enjolras and gave them both a smile.

"Eponine, meet Enjolras. He's the one who knows more about this stuff than Combeferre and I combined. Have fun now young children!"

And then Grantaire is out of the stacks and Eponine and Enjolras are once again, alone in each other's presence.

He clears his throat and steps back from her close proximity, now averting his eyes from her as he moved his hands that were, in his shock, gravitated to hold against Eponine's tiny waist when she was shoved against him seconds ago. Eponine too, was a bit startled and could only react by remaining silent with her brown eyes staring holes into his sharp, smooth jaw.

It is awkward and silent before Eponine breaks the tension.

"So you probably aren't the official TA for Professor Muriel huh?"

Enjolras straightens up now, allowing himself to finally look at her, (anything but her eyes really) so he sets his eyes on her cheekbones instead.

"No, I go to Columbia. It's a running joke between he and I, the TA thing. I just visit him from time to time and he puts me to work."

"Oh" Eponine whispers, completely unsure about this man's less than feral reactions to her. They were a striking difference from their first meetings.

"So...Plato. Add that in your list."

"Which section would that be in?" Eponine grunts out as she picks the heavy books into her arms. Enjolras moves forwards as if to take the books himself, but he stops at the same time she freezes up.

And ladies and gentlemen, that weird tension between the two returns with its wry self.

Eponine also remembers that the card she probably had in her back pocket (she knew Grantaire slipped it in anyway) was not his, or Combeferre's, but probably Enjolras' himself.

"I assume this card..."

"Is mine, yes."

Eponine wants to damn it all to hell, she wakes this early on her day off to try to be productive on her stupid dissertation, but instead, she ends up in between the stacks with the same man whose contact she renamed as "Possible Baby-Puppy Mama."

Where did the weeks, where everything went according to the post-its on her planner, go?

Her sigh is loud as she makes a U-turn on her steps to return the books on her hands, she figures she'll bribe Bahorel to get bootleg copies of these books for her instead, but Enjolras is side stepping her with a furrow of his brow.

"Plato is the other way."

"What are you talking about?" Eponine is confused, because well, she is about to return the blasted books and he is speaking in circles now.

"Plato should be this way, not that way."

Eponine's gaze turns from being startled at his different nature (how can he turn from terrible and annoying to charming and desolate?) to actually looking at him as if he was kidnapped and was possibly given a personality transplant in his absence.

Enjolras breathes out slowly before clearing up the air from the thick tension that surrounded them once more.

"I'll let you borrow them under my name."

Eponine blinks at him.

"Are you shitting me?"

His seemingly, permanent tight lipped expression breaks into a tiny smirk at her language, and Eponine is so shaken she is actually contemplating to knock him over the head in case he really had been invaded by a bug in his head.

"No. On one condition."

Of course, there would be a condition.

"Okay...what is it?"

"Pizza over a conversation about the dogs."

Eponine did not know whether she was relieved over the fact that this still was the same man that practically threw up a diatribe on her because of Cillian, or if she actually preferred the boyish-man that was more shy and soft spoken that urged her to take on Plato's book.

"Okay fine."

Enjolras was nothing if not efficient, if he is to multi task to keep himself busy and standing, he shall do so because he dislikes wasting time. But seeing Eponine today was not planned and he really was taken much off-guard. He did want to speak with her, at the same time he wants a bite of food. So why not do it all in one time?

"There's a pizza parlor not far from campus that makes great ones."

"Were you abducted?"

Enjolras stops in his appraising of the shelves as he looked over works from Plato to Ovid, none of them being "The Republic."

"Abducted?" he asks, confused as he looks upon Eponine's shadowed features.

Pretty face, he thinks.

Then he is uncomfortable for his thoughts and he looks away hastily, now appraising the shelves with much more forced vigor.

"I feel like you were given a personality transplant."

Enjolras did not particularly care for the opinions of others, but it struck him that this girl, this Eponine with the same name sake as the heroine of a timeless revolutionary's fictional life - Epponnina it was - this very same girl from the park with the blazed cheeks and little clothing to boot, the one who he is voluntarily helping - for reasons he really does not want to think over - views him in the light Grantaire often teased him about.

He stays silent and doesn't reply.

Eponine feels as if she's set flame to her chances at getting free food and books - but even more, she feels as if she actually struck a nerve at this walking conundrum with the strange name of Enjolras. But she does not know how to apologize or handle emotions, she is a bit selfish and more keen to leaving things out to air-dry instead of tackling them with strong feelings of being sorry or being empathic. She tries, she really does, but she does not know how to navigate Enjolras. He is a stranger that is familiar to her, he is a rough mixture of shadow and light, of everything that was not Marius nor Courfeyrac. He was not Grantaire, he was not entirely Combeferre. He is a persona of his own and Eponine does not know how to approach this new territory.

So she does what she does best.

"I'll pay for the pizza."

Not order pizza, but deflect. She is not sure if it worked, because Eponine was too embarrassed to look at Enjolras, but his voice is echoing against the shelves again and she takes what she can get from her screwed up apology.

"I'll carry the books."

And that was that.

* * *

Conversing with Enjolras is not the same as arguing with Enjolras. Eponine is not quite sure if there is a difference between the two, since she found she liked to intentionally quarrel with him, so she deliberately did so when he attempted to slide open her seat for her when they've reached the pizza parlor.

Enjolras, who was aware of her intentions, trapped himself in the mock-quarrel anyway, because in doing so he did not have to shake his mind to awaken from the blissful and utterly different calmness when he is around Eponine. Fighting with Eponine is easier than being perplexed by Eponine.

Once the order was placed and their respective iced teas were positioned far enough to their respective left hands (to ensure that they would not accidentally knock it over) they began the familiar language of Eponine and Enjolras.

Bantering.

"So do you often read laws concerning dogs on your free time or..."

"As a matter of fact I do. I'm studying law, if you didn't know."

"Would have thought you would go into beauty school, your hair is so pretty - uh, well kept."

Enjolras' mouth dries up at her slip of words and he forces down more concentrated-iced tea down his esophagus in reply.

"I - "

The pizza arrives and both of them are anxious and confused as they sat across from each other, both failing to bring themselves into the familiar territory of quarrel. Instead they are sharing meat and cheese madden greasy food on an afternoon, and no there aren't humping dogs in between them as they wail like roaring lions on other side of them, nor were there people in cellphones listening in to their argument then laughing haphazardly as if it was the single, funniest shit they've ever heard in their life. There wasn't even a band of perfectly dressed, Dior cladded Jacob's around to interrupt both Enjolras and Eponine.

So both think to themselves, "what now?"

Enjolras wants to just say what is clawing out of his throat, but instead he carefully chews on his food and steals glances from the corner of his eyes.

Eponine wants to hate herself for not apologizing for the incident at the library, and she is so uncomfortable that she decides that if her conscience does not quit at the very second, she will pour packets of spice on her pizza to put her mouth in a burning state of pain. That would be enough of a distraction, yeah.

The sun is turning into an orange hue, one that dictates that New York is being clouded by sunset. It's the kind of light that curved into every towering building in the city, the type that swallowed the streets and it's people whole. Eponine is not an exception to that, for now her angled features are drowning in that same light; but she is brighter than the rest, he silently concludes.

Enjolras is so baffled by how pretty this infuriating little thing is that when he tries to swallow the last piece of his half of pizza, he instead chokes on the crust, leaving him hacking.

There is no use, multi-tasking did not fully work to its potential so therefore, a plan B must be made and quickly. Enjolras stands abruptly, told her he'll be back then disappears like she's offended him again.

He comes back after a good thirty minutes armed.

With two pizza boxes actually. He tells her that they are to take them both: for he and her, and she wants to deny it, but she thinks of who waited for her at home (mouths to feed) so she agrees to it. Musichetta and Gavroche loved pizza anyway.

They split by the time she gets off the yellow cab with him still inside. He is giving her an aloof smile, and then he is nodding to her in goodbye.

"I'll be leaving you messages." Enjolras says, then the yellow cab is being swallowed by the rest of the cabs that littered their street and the orange hue of New York eventually turns into one of night.

* * *

"I'm home!" Eponine announces, not at all surprised that Courfeyrac is curled on their couch with his game controller in hand, and eyes on Cosette's flat screen.

Eponine carefully places the box of pizza on the table, careful to leave it in the middle just in case Cillian finds it completely okay to snatch it.

"Courf, I don't know which is more of your favorite hobby: eating our food or raising up our energy bill."

Before Courfeyrac can laugh, a startled scream from Cosette shakes Eponine and Courfeyrac's would-be banter.

"EPONINE!" she screams, eyes red rimmed and blazing with emotions as she marches out with the pizza box in tow.

Courfeyrac is as confused as Eponine, both think that Cosette has gone into an emotional feat over the meat-sprinkled pizza, (or has she turned into a social-justice, vegetarian today?) or has Cosette slipped into some kind of emotional trauma to greasy food?

But before both Courfeyrac and Eponine could ask her why, or Gavroche and Azelma finally pick a piece of pizza from the box, Cosette holds up a banner that makes Eponine's stomach drop.

"It's a boy!" it reads.

"WHAT?" Courfeyrac shouts, eyes wide and staring at Eponine as if she had transformed into an animal in front of his eyes.

Cosette is crazed now, looking at Eponine's stomach as if she had X-Ray vision; determinedly looking for the baby boy the banner was blatantly saying.

"Eponine?" Azelma whispers, wide bright eyes at her mute sister.

Eponine is staring at the banner, shocked, amused, angry, all of these emotions stirring at her core like Grantaire visibly shook a cocktail when he's making them in their apartment. She is shocked because she truly did not think he had a sense of humor, call her ignorant and biased, but it was hard to get an indepth look of Enjolras when he keeps on breaking his gaze from hers during their semi-awkward but oddly comfortable lunch escapade. Not to mention, Eponine was still in such a confused state over his contrasting behavior from today and his behavior from their first meeting.

But now, of all the curses and thoughts that threatened to spill from her mouth, all that left was:

"Enjolras."

And her little whisper of his name proved to be the complete opposite of an assurance. It's like she lost her vocals and thus could not tell Courfeyrac and Cosette they are merely interpreting this all wrong.

At the sound of commotion, pitter patters stroll into the living room where the three people stood agape and unmoving. Cillian raises his nose up in the air, sniffing Eponine, then barks once, twice, and runs into the kitchen in excitement. If this dog thinks he's going to get his fourth kibble of the day he's got another thing coming.

* * *

Hope that wasn't too bad...

Sorry for the long wait guys, I had this all typed up and I was just editing it, but I got really sick so that took another two days. I'm still sick though, I'm currently coughing like crazy while I type this Author A/N.

Well we only have one chapter left of Accidents on 18th Street! Hopefully I can get that to you by this month.

Reviews are very welcome! X


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